


Hollow

by snowpuppies



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, Angst, AtS: Season 1, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's missing. Set in an AU AtS S1 where W&H performed the ritual to bring Darla back just a little earlier in the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow

  


**Title** : Hollow  
 **Author** : [](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**snowpuppies**](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **Fandom** : Ats  
 **Character/Pairing** : Faith/Darla  
 **Genre** : Angst/PWP  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Highlight for Warnings** : **graphic f/f sex, bloodplay, rough sex, painwithsex**  
 **Disclaimer & Distribution**: Recognizable things aren't mine but the fic is. Please don't archive or distribute without asking.  
 **Summary** : Something's missing. Set in an AU AtS S1 where W&H performed the ritual to bring Darla back just a little earlier in the season.  
 **Word Count** : 2,036  
 **x-posted to** : TBA

 **A/N** : for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=brutti_ma_buoni)[**brutti_ma_buoni**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=brutti_ma_buoni) as a part of [](http://femslash-minis.livejournal.com/profile)[**femslash_minis**](http://femslash-minis.livejournal.com/).  
 **A/N2** : for my [](http://kinda-gay.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kinda_gay**](http://kinda-gay.dreamwidth.org/) [prompt table](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/292982.html) \- 16: Need.

Beta'd by the wonderiferous [](http://velvetwhip.livejournal.com/profile)[**velvetwhip**](http://velvetwhip.livejournal.com/)

 

 

  
**Hollow**

 

There's something missing.

She's known it since she came to…white walls, click-clack of keyboards, and everything so bright it hurts.

She wants to retch.

She's trembling, shaking apart to little bits on the inside, but the outside remains damnably normal.

_Human._

As if she didn't hate it enough the first go around.

 

***

 

There's an itch inside.

Not that she'd admit it, of course.

Not to anyone else and certainly not to herself.

She's got the solution in-hand, however; nothing in the world that can't be solved by violence or sex…

…or a big-ass steak.

Pun intended.

So she plays the game—might as well get her own piece of the pie, and no one's giving out hand-outs for free, that's for sure.

And she pushes the itch away. Tomorrow's another day and all that shit.

 

***

 

The bitch reeks of desperation; she doesn't have to have vampire senses to hear the clawing, screeching cacophony hiding beneath Lilah Morgan's words.

She never had much use for lawyers—always made her stomach turn—and this one's no exception. A pretty shell, perhaps, but she's had more than her share of pretty girls and pretty boys and they're all the same once they're hollowed-out: a watermelon rind left on the street corner to rot and attract flies.

Still, the emptiness inside is too great to ignore and pretty words coming from pretty lips fall on her ears and if Lilah's desperate…

Well, like calls to like.

So she stays in the wolf's lair. She'll bide her time.

She's lived long enough to know that the next big thing is just around the corner.

And she's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, even when it's full of fangs.

 

***

 

The Morgan woman's a bitch, that's for sure. Expecting her to play ball like a good little girl, fetch, good doggie, all wagging her tail and waiting for a bone…

Like that's going to happen.

If she was going to fall for that routine, she'd have played happy Slayers in SunnyD with the Brady Bunch.

But cash is cash, and the thought of getting rid of that stupid voice in her head, those stupid, brown, _forgiving_ eyes boring into her, increases the itch until she feels like she'll vibrate out of her skin…

So she signs on the dotted line, gets ready to get on with her life, when something…some _pull_ stops her in her tracks.

 

***

 

There's something different about the girl—ratty hair, dirty clothes and undisguised weapons don't fit into a law firm, for one—but whatever it is, as soon as she sets eyes on the girl, the emptiness grows into a gnawing hunger.

And she knows what to do with hunger.

 

***

 

She thinks she should know the woman—she wasn't sure why she'd been drawn to open an otherwise unremarkable door, but she thinks that it has something to do with the way the itch intensifies as their eyes meet.

So, she thinks as she lets the door slip shut behind her, she might take a detour.

 

***

 

"You're…you… _belong_ to Angel."

A snort. "Hardly. More like he belongs to me."

"You're…"

"His sire. And you're a Slayer."

"But you're…?"

"Human. Again."

"Huh."

 

***

 

She surveys the Slayer from top to bottom: full, lickable lips, pert breasts, strong thighs, a challenge in her eyes, and veins full of the one thing that can make her hunger go away.

Her gums shouldn't itch at the thought of such a fortunate surprise.

But they do.

And if she were herself, she knows exactly how she'd take the girl apart, piece by piece, string her out until she was whining and pleading, arching against Darla like a whore, begging for her fangs.

But as the hunger continues to grow, crawling up her spine like black mold, tendrils stretching out along her limbs and up into her skull, she knows that—fangs or not—she's still a vampire.

 

***

 

In a way, Darla's the cause of all her problems.

No Darla, no Angel, no Buffy-batting-her-eyes-and-spreading-her-legs-for-the-enemy.

Her gut churns at the thought and the itch spreads to her palms, the soles of her feet, and she has to move, has to do, can't sit still because she won't find her way back out of the light if she falls too far toward the sun.

So she does the only thing she can do.

 

***

 

She doesn't know who moves first. Doesn't matter, really, when the result is a collision that rattles her to the bone, teeth clacking together as they eat at one another's mouths, slippyslick tongues and lips and she knows the answer to the hunger is there, just beyond her reach, and she needs to crawl inside, needs to soak up the magic in Faith's bones.

Her hands find the neck of the Slayer's t-shirt and she yanks—human strength isn't what she's used to and she growls against swollen lips, hands impatient as Faith pulls the garment up and off. She grabs straight for breasts, warm and full in her palms, squeezing, nipping at Faith's mouth, gnawing on the skin there as she pushes Faith's bra up to scratch and twist at distended nipples.

Heat rises in her body, a flash of electricity from head to toe and back, and she dips her head to bite along the curve of Faith's tits, struggling to keep her hands on the Slayer's body as her own top is torn away, bra ripped and flung across the room to land in the ficus by the door.

 

***

 

She scratches along the pale flesh revealed, inch by inch, as she pulls the clothing from Darla's body, fingers fumbling with buttons and zipper as she grasps, reaching clawing, down, down, between Darla's thighs, wet and warm and slick, and Darla gasps and bites down on her nipple. She bucks into the pain, muscles flexing as she drives them back, back to land on the desk, paper flying, a lamp crashing to the floor, pens and pencils and fucking-middle-school highlighters scattering across the desktop.

Someone's grunting, loud and rhythmic, and Darla's cunt squeezes her fingers as she presses inside, hand almost possessed as her fingers flail and stretch against the tight walls, no coordination, no timing, just pulling Darla apart at the seams. She scrapes her teeth across Darla's collarbone and the woman screams, bucking off the desk and throwing them both to the floor. Faith doesn't do the bottom, doesn't give an inch, not no way, no how, but Darla riding her fingers, grinding down on her, head flung back, hair falling around her shoulders in a sweaty mess…

…is about the hottest thing she's ever seen.

 

***

 

Slayer's hands are strong.

 _Strong_.

The breath catches in her throat as she's flung into the desk, as the fingers of Faith's right hand fuck into her and break her open. Fear creeps into her chest, but she's still Darla, she's still the Master's creation and she still has centuries on the kitten she's riding, so she gulps a breath and pulls herself away from Faith's grasping hands, tearing and jerking at the Slayer's jeans until she shimmies enough to pull them down to Faith's thighs.

Thighs spread wide, she grinds herself down on the Slayer's crotch, pussy-to-pussy, coarse hairs scratching at her clit, bruises forming on her thighs when Faith flips them before she can even get a rhythm started.

 

***

 

She crawls up Darla's body, knees colliding and wrapping and arranging until they're aligned, and it's so damn hot and slick and the curtain of her hair blocks out the shitty office décor. Their breath fills the space with humidity, slicking her skin, and her hands slide up Darla's sides in a juddery slip-stop, just sweaty enough to stick against her palms.

Fingernails rake up her spine; she falls forward and fastens her teeth to Darla's lips, biting down until the blood sprays into her mouth, dribbling down to fall from her chin to drop onto Darla's neck, her chest. Darla's hand finds the mess, smears it across her shoulders, her breasts, then reaches out to paint a line down the hollow of Faith's throat.

She watches as Darla's pupils dilate, then falters as hips jerk and buck and she's falling over and Darla's at her neck and it hurts and she pushes until they separate.

She watches, panting, as Darla licks her lips.

 

***

 

The metallic ambrosia coating her tongue, her throat, is heaven.

She watches as the blood drips sluggishly down Faith's neck onto her shoulder.

And still, there are no fangs.

But she'll be damned if it doesn't matter a bit.

She launches herself at the Slayer, mouth latching on the wound as she twists and wriggles her hand between Faith's thighs, fingers sliding in and setting up a counterpoint to the suction of her lips.

She cries out when Faith returns the favor, four fingers opening her up without mercy.

 

***

 

It's never been her thing.

She's done kinky shit up one side and down another, but blood's always been off limits. But there's something about the desperation in Darla's eyes, the clutch of her fingers, and then there's the itch, that fucking painful itch of dirtywrongbad along her spine every time she looks in the mirror, thinks of her name, remembers the look on B's face when she realized…

She falls back and lets Darla gnaw and rip into her throat, wondering with each gush of blood into the woman's mouth, if this will be the thing that finally cleans out the darkness.

Or if it will simply be the end.

But she's not one for introspection, and it feels like Darla's got her whole fucking hand inside now, and Faith's jerking into the thrusts, locking her wrist and driving her own fingers up into Darla, slipping her thumb just inside, just a little, and when teeth dig into her shoulder, she rears up and fastens her teeth in the meat of Darla's shoulder.

 

***

 

Bliss.

The pain is sparking along her nerves, and she's being stretched too far too fast, bruised and scratched and her shoulder screams in agony as Faith chews on her skin.

Memories float across her eyelids, nights of unending passion, blood and flesh and bone and tears, bodies moving in synch, taking and being taken, one body turning into two and three and four, unceasing, unending, free under the night sky, humanity's shackles tossed aside, spilt out and licked up and brought back together in a frenzy of limbs.

She convulses as Faith's hand slides in to the wrist, cunt convulsing around the intrusion. Her head spins, breath catches in her chest and she slumps onto the carpet, still buried inside Faith's body.

 

***

 

It's bad enough when a guy does it, but she's not letting Darla get away with leaving her high and dry. She grabs Darla's arm and twists upward until it cracks. Lowering herself onto the extended fingers, she begins to ride, bones in Darla's wrists grinding together as she whimpers in pain.

She forces herself to take more, her free hand reaching out to mash on Darla's bruised shoulder.

She comes as Darla passes out.

Pulling herself away, she slides back into her jeans, chalks the bra up as a loss and slides back into her t-shirt. She aches between her thighs as she slips down the stairwell and into the lobby. Pausing in the ladies' room, she wipes the majority of the blood away.

She doesn't look in the mirror.

Exiting the building, she doesn't hesitate to turn in Angel's direction, fingers caressing the shaft of her crossbow.

Less than ten minutes later and the itch is back.

 

***

 

She wakes, naked, sticky and in a pool of her own blood.

Familiar, that.

Trembling, she pushes herself to her knees, taking a moment to get her bearings before sitting up.

Lindsey is in the executive chair, feet propped up on the desk, hands folded nicely in his lap.

"Have fun?"

She doesn't answer.

She's not ashamed—years as a whore in her first human life saw to that—she's confused. Body still tingling with pleasurepain, endorphins high…

…there's still something missing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _FIN_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

****[Fic Masterlists](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/166663.html)****

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/295514.html).


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